Chapter Text
Within a week of moving in Rey called him a rare bird, smiling and shaking her head. After he felt stilted, nervous at the prospect of interaction.
As a rule they only talk on a need to know basis. Except by virtue of living together she has a prime seat to Ben’s oddity.
How he showers multiple times a day to get warm. Picking at his cuticles until they bleed, biting his lip. Wearing baggy jeans to class though it labels him as unprofessional, a step above insubordinate.
How he refuses to eat anything but oyster crackers from the basement vending machine.
She still invites Ben to the table for dinner. It’s no use trying to explain so he just sits, warmed by the smell of marinara or peanut sauce, the vent of heat from the cracked oven.
Doling out crackers like casino chips on the placemat, conserving them to last as long as it takes.
He thinks Rey eats even faster than usual.
She keeps offering bites off her plate, sectioning back spoonfuls of rice without curry, slices of salted watermelon and carrot chips.
Anything to tempt Ben, and it works.
His mouth fills with drool. His heartbeat quickens, imagining being fed. Tantalized by each dish that’s more intricate than the last.
He thinks Rey might be trying out new recipes, using the cookbooks on the counter to see what sticks.
Except like everyone she grows tired, drifting inevitably away. Over time she breaks off the ritual of their shared meals, eating at the cafeteria or while he’s still at school.
Those nights are the worst.
Returning home from class to a dark apartment, dishes washed and stacked away.
---
As a kid he wasn’t picky.
More so desperate, termed by adults as a mooch, a vacuum cleaner. For years Ben had the best appetite in his grade.
He lost it concurrent with the divorce, the day of his eleventh birthday.
Leia emerged late in the afternoon, eyes red. Apologizing for sleeping so long though the blinds were open, the TV blaring CSPAN.
As a diplomat she was good at deflection, at drawing attention away from the unsightly truth. Cheerfully fielding requests from his friends for second helpings of juice and cookies, for a peek into the room where she recorded her briefings.
The menu for the party was kid fare everyone loved, even the parents. Mac and cheese with hotdogs. Instant mashed potatoes and homemade brownies. Peach Crystal Light, grilled corn on the cob. Buttered peas.
Except from the first bite the food was revolting, rotten on his tongue.
Mom wanted out.
When Ben puked the adults chalked it up to too much sun at the pool, overexcitement or early puberty. Laughing, pitying him with silver-wrapped presents, promises of trips to the park.
In the beginning they were sympathetic. Even Han laid a hand on his shoulder, smoothing back his sweaty hair.
Only the scene repeated itself night after night, no matter if Leia made bone broth or cheesecake.
Eventually he stopped eating meals altogether. Learning to subsist off of vile packs of Ensure and mouthfuls of nondescript, storebrand saltines.
The family therapist was the one who betrayed him. Whispering over his head the long-sought diagnosis: anorexia.
That afternoon in the car Han tried to explain. Stumbling through a long, moralless story about his grandfather, genetics and change.
“We’ll be spending more time together soon,” he even said.
---
For years Ben was shuttled to the shrink’s beige office like clockwork every Friday. First it was Han who went along, then Luke, then a revolving lineup of distant, harried drivers who dropped him off at the door.
By that time it didn’t matter. Ben knew how to occupy himself.
Pretending to jump light poles along the highway, soaring up and down the wires. Imagining his body flying away, it was so frail.
Imagining a world where people didn’t perpetually lie. Where his mother wasn't so distracted that she lost sight of what mattered. Shaking her head as Ben tried to explain, tearful and painfully honest.
Saying, I just don't see how that's possible.
---
Ben misses the last bus out of campus by mere minutes, stranding him at the terminal. Not even music makes the walk less miserable.
Except-
Two to the left, three down. Rey’s bedroom light is on, her window open to the cold.
He forgot what day it was.
---
For the college's roommate search Rey supplied less than a paragraph about her family. Stating that her mom died a decade ago, admitting her foster parents were cold comfort. In person she was only a little more forthcoming.
Going so far as to give a date, November 12th. Apologizing in advance for the resulting fallout.
---
What she bitterly calls a pity cake is set out on the counter. He knows from experience that Rey iced it with her bare hands. Licking her fingers, shouting along to Brick by Boring Brick.
When she's high Rey has a flair for the dramatic.
Shoving the pan away only to eat in fistfuls after midnight, parked in front of the sink. Wiping viciously at her eyes, smearing frosting everywhere.
Snapping at Ben, what are you looking at?
From experience he knows to let it rest. Platitudes are useless even a few years on. For in time denial turns to emptiness, all memory of the past hollowed out by grief.
It doesn’t get better, just infinitely harder to talk about.
---
Coconut cake was her mom’s favorite.
It was Ben’s too, from before. Usually he got stuck with store-bought sheet cake slathered in coconut flakes, which wasn’t remotely the same.
The real thing calls to him.
Over the years it became a secret perversion, a party trick no one else knew. How he could read the barometer of someone’s emotions just by tasting their food.
He can tell when restaurant spaghetti is cobbled together by an exhausted, underpaid line cook. He's an expert at wine tasting, capable of noting the origin down to the vintner's dark humor.
Usually Ben resents the intrusion. How he gets drawn into another sphere, another world that's harsher and less tenable than his own.
Only this time he goes willingly to the counter, shaking with nerves. Needing to know the depth of Rey’s pain, her indifference to him.
Unprepared he panics, taking a forkful straight from the center. So it’s obvious, impossible to cover up. There's no use trying anyways. As much as Ben reads into things, deflects and covers up his habits, Rey always knows better.
He goes to stand over the trash, already regretting it. Knowing he’ll be down for days, sick, doubled over in the shower-
Except the cake tastes like pure longing. Like love he's never felt.
Without meaning to, he digs in with both hands.
Realizing he's starving, hungry like never before. What rested so long as a distant, detached ache turns to anguish, hot tears coursing down his face.
Finally he feels full.
---
When the cake’s gone Ben can’t help but lick the pan, bent low against the counter. Finding days old ramen to dump on top of the remains, leftover soup still in the can.
Eyes closed in rapture until he hears Rey’s door creak.
---
It’s the worst kind of paranoid hallucination. As a result Rey's pissed, bristling at the sight. It simply can't be.
Wiry Ben who weighs all of a buck forty ate so much of her food he collapsed. The remains of her cake are smeared on his cheeks, all over the counter and the sink.
His jeans are unbuttoned.
“Are you deranged?” she asks. "Or am I?"
“I got hungry.”
“You’re never hungry. I’ve seen you swallow more gum than food.”
“Gum is mass produced.”
“Okay?”
“I’m sorry. Homemade stuff tastes weird to me.”
“Not my cake. Damn you, Ben. That took hours.”
“I can pay-”
“For the ingredients? That’ll be two hundred dollars. Cash only.”
“No, to make more.”
---
“Is this a fetish?” she asks after. Holding his hair back, rubbing his shoulders as he pukes.
Ben shakes his head.
Which puts Rey in the awkward position of wanting to play along, wishing it was.
How many times did she try to make him eat. Like her mother near the end of her run, all he wanted was to be left alone.
When he's done she goes to the kitchen, swaying a little on her feet. Finn's blunt took the edge off, stretched out the night into manageable sections. Now it’s working against Rey, making everything more difficult.
Still she's able to stir together a cup of peppermint tea, pulling crisp leaves from the stems. Hours ago she bought it as a garnish, hardly expecting it to come to better use.
When she gets back Ben’s slumped on the tile, lost to the sound of her voice. So sick he looks more translucent than pale, veins blue along his arms.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “This is the last thing you need.”
“No, don't. At least I can do something about this.”
She drapes him in an afghan, placing the mug in his hands. Helping him to drink from it in unsteady gulps, watching his throat work.
He really is handsome.
Rey gets closer, offering tabs of alka seltzer from her palm which he greedily takes, dissolving them in the tea. Chugging it so fast his tongue must burn.
Ben hands back the empty cup.
After he seems shaky, unsure where to go. Draped in Rey's blanket, looking down at her with the softest eyes.
“Need help?” she asks.
---
She’s only seen his room from the hall. Rey had no idea it was so bare, devoid of any discernible taste. Ben doesn’t have posters like a grad student, dirty laundry or dishes strewn across the carpet.
Of course.
Rey lays him gingerly over the covers. Taking off his boots, his hoodie. Her heart twists when he curls into a ball, huffing out breaths of discomfort.
“You’ll feel better in the morning,” she tells him. “Just sleep.”
She doesn't leave until he’s out, smiling into the imprint of her hand.
---
It’s afternoon by the time Ben stumbles to the kitchen, late to the class he's supposed to teach and marked absent from three more.
On the counter is a plate of toast covered in foil, buttered and slathered in strawberry jam.
A crossed-out note that used to say fridge leads him to a decadent spread of food for the day. There's buttered pasta, fried rice and eggplant parmesan. Peanut butter crackers and kiwi slices. Miniature cartons of yogurt drink.
Each dish is labeled with a number, snacks included. Plotted out for him, spaced evenly so he won’t be sick.
Too controlling? she wrote on the last note, clearly in a rush. You know what, just ignore me.
It’s all he can do not to answer out loud, to tell Rey he physically can't.
---